


Hey, is that my shirt?

by Mullsandmutts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Feelings, First Time Sex, Gay Porn Hard, M/M, Pining, Stupid Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mullsandmutts/pseuds/Mullsandmutts
Summary: Its Travel Day to Nashville for Game 3.  Patrick is working to push Jonny out of serious-mode while at the same time, working to keep Jonny out of his heart area.  That's always super successful .... Not





	Hey, is that my shirt?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first and foremost, a huge thanks to fourfreedoms for pulling together this little challenge to support our boys! 
> 
> I have faith in our boys and am sending all of the positive energy and vibes of the universe their way.

Contrary to popular belief, Jonny doesn't generally exercise his captainly authority in the locker room. He and the core have built an environment of equality -- every guy is responsible for their wins and every guy is responsible for their losses. And the respect is deep enough amongst everyone that no one ever has to be bossy. Being a dictator has never actually had to be his thing (no matter what Sharpy tries to get the world to buy into). But after a down-right ass beating and humiliation like the one last night, Jonny probably assumes that the responsibility falls on his shoulders to do or say some-damn-thing. 

So before the plane starts to descend into Nashville, Jonny announces a mandatory and closed meeting at the hotel after they settle in. 

"Is not all meeting to be closed?" A confused Temi leans over to ask Hartzy as Jonny sits back down and the plane begins to prepare for landing. 

"He means just players, Breadman," Seabs explains patiently. "No coaches, no managers, just players."

"Ah," Temi nods solemnly and fires off a hushed series of Russian to Arty who nods and responds in kind. The distinctly American phrase "whip asses" may be uttered and Patrick, who had been silently sitting with Hoss in front of the Russian duo, fights back a small smile. 

Patrick likes sitting with Hoss when times are tense. Hoss is a calm font of wisdom and serenity and he doesn't ask a lot of questions. He's the perfect seat mate for days when Patrick needs to process. And this is definitely one of those days. 

Patrick might usually choose to sit next to or at least near Jonny, but time and maturity have taught him that no matter how much Mr.-I-am-peace-I-am-calm-I-am-at-one-with-the-universe would like the world to believe he didn't earn the Captain Serious title, there are still moments when he can revert to the terse snarky replies that once upon a time would have ended up with Seabs being called a fatty or with Patrick bruised from shoving matches behind the closed door of their smotheringly small hotel room. 

Patrick, despite hating every time he hears a beat say the word, actually has "matured" enough to at least know when to enlarge the distance between himself and Jonny. They get along easily these days, moving in a symmetry that once played out only on the ice. He knows when to give Jonny (and himself) space and he knows when to push. This is a space time. 

The rookies and the Russians, however, had not been subtle in their concerned glances when Patrick walked by Jonny's seat during boarding. It wasn't just a joke amongst the public and beats, the whole Momma Patrick and Dad Jonny thing. Sometimes it really did feel like they were co-parenting the team and the rookies seemed to buy into it too. Enough so that the rookies had looked at them like kids at a dinner table when mom and dad fought. At least the core knew better and already knew which rookies they were "assigned" to later reassure and calm. 

Patrick watches the team file off as they land, making no rush to be the first person up and off. He can tell from the tense line of Jonny's shoulders in his seat a few rows up that Jonny will make sure to be the last one off the flight. Patrick isn't proud of the fact that he knows this by merely looking at Jonny, but he stopped being ashamed of that shit a long time ago. 

Hoss doesn't bat an eye. He just gets up and grabs his bag, nods once as if he expected Patrick to stay, and herds the straggling Russians along. 

"Exit is that way," Hoss says to Temi. 

"Pete to be coming," Temi probably doesn't mean for it to sound like a whine but Hoss sighs. 

"I'll be out in a minute, Breadman," Patrick smiles reassuringly. Hoss and Arty shuffle him along and out the door. 

"You got the captain?" Seabs stops, Duncs right behind him. 

"Don't I always?" Patrick sighs tiredly, exaggerating his displeasure. 

"I miss the days when you feared us, kid," Duncs says menacingly. Or at least tries to. Patrick knows that the dude would literally take a skate blade to the heart to keep Patrick out of harms' way. They all would. Patrick can't help the wave of deep and humble gratitude fill him at the thought of his team and the way they always have his back. And Jonny's. 

"Yeah yeah yeah, get outta here, Grandpa," Patrick mutters, biting back a grin. Seabs gives him the I'm-watching-you finger gesture and Duncs gives him, well, just the finger. 

Patrick gathers up his items and pauses near his row. Patrick watches as Jonny sit woodenly until Duncs and Seabs exit and then drops his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. Patrick would like to pretend that Jonny isn't aware that Patrick is still there. But the freaky quasi-soul bond thing goes both ways. Jonny knows exactly who is behind him. 

"I'm fine," Jonny stays in place for a minute, refusing to turn around. 

"Yep," Patrick steps forward, resettling his bag on his arm as he reaches up for Jonny's backpack from the overhead compartment. "So get up."

"Thanks," Jonny mutters, standing up to take his bag, avoiding Patrick's eyes. Patrick isn't going to tolerate that bullshit so he holds onto the strap of Jonny's bag as he tugs at it. Patrick may well end up bloodied in the battle but he isn't going to let go without making Jonny look at him. 

"You've known me for fifteen years, dumbass. You know I'm Irish and stubborn. And you know that you will have to strap me to your back and carry me with you before I let go of this thing, Jonny," Patrick says quietly. "You also know exactly what will make me let go. So save your back and my embarrassment." 

"Fine," Jonny exhales frustratedly and stops tugging, looking up to glare at Patrick. 

"There you go," Patrick gives him a small grin and let’s go. 

Jonny glowers at Patrick for a full twenty seconds of what must be homicide contemplation until he slowly lets out a giant exhale, shoulders finally sagging. Mission accomplished. 

"No one even likes you," Jonny mutters, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

"Lies," Patrick dimples, "You love me, shithead." 

"You're a shithead," Jonny grumbles as he straps on his freed backpack. 

"Your mom is a shithead," Patrick chirps back automatically. Jonny gives him a pointed look. 

"I'm telling her you said so," Jonny retorts. 

"She won't believe you," Patrick responds breezily. "Momma Toews loves me most of all."

"It's Momma Gilbert and you're a dick," Jonny rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah yeah yeah," Patrick waves his hand dismissively. "Get off the fucking plane, Toews. You're holding us up." 

********

"Listen, Kaner," Tony pulls Patrick aside as they are grabbing their bags from the cargo area of the bus as while it idles outside of the hotel. "I had you and Toews in rooms next to each other but if one of you is going to knock on my door at 3am with blood on your hands asking me where to hide the body, I can change that."

It's half-annoying and half-comforting to know that Tony has been around long enough to sense potential stress-induced death matches. 

"As if," Patrick snorts. "I'd go to Duncs if I needed help hiding a body."

"Valid," Tony nods. "Just let me know though." He looks concerned enough that Patrick reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. 

"Nah dude, we're good," Patrick smiles. "All that namaste shit has calmed the old man down over the years. I only want to bash his face in like three times a day now."

"Growth is a wonderful thing," Tony deadpans before trotting over to where Kitch is waving for him. 

Patrick reconnects with Temi before the child works himself into a tizzy, joking around and calling him lazy in the Russian that Arty has been teaching Patrick on the sly. He knows Temi has relaxed when Temi fires back a "fucking your mother fucker" in broken English. 

But the entire time, Patrick's peripheral vision is following Jonny as he picks up his room key, stops for a quick and stern conversation with Q, and makes his way toward the elevator. 

Patrick casually works his way out of the group he was standing with and ends up at the elevator at the same time as Jonny. He should probably blush at the fact that Jonny is well aware that Patrick has timed their elevator journeys to align but again, Patrick gave up feeling ashamed about that shit years ago.

"Did your son get settled down?" Jonny looks over at Temi and his dumb smug grin tells Patrick that Jonny thinks he has just delivered a good burn. Patrick knows Jonny has had better days so he should let him have that one but ..... it's Jonny. 

"You mean your brother?" Patrick waggles his eyebrows just enough to make it clear that he is implying sex and Jonny's mother which would normally a) make Patrick shudder because Andree is awesome but that's a place his mind will never go and b) get Jonny all riled once he figures out what Patrick's trying to imply. 

"I'm going to start recording these insults to my mother's honor, dickhead," Jonny clearly catches the implication as they step onto the empty elevator and head toward their floor. "And then I will send them to YOUR mother."

Patrick may or may not blanch a little at that threat. Donna Kane would not find Patrick amusing. And Jonny would do it.

Jonny, being Jonny, does his smug little one fist-pump celly at the look on Patrick's face and Patrick can't hold back the laugh that he barks out at Jonny's dumb face. Jonny's body is far more at ease and he's clearly relaxed. Mission two accomplished. 

Patrick shoves Jonny's considerable bulk out of the elevator doors as they open and heads toward their rooms. Jonny reaches his door first and enters without a word. Patrick enters and immediately goes to unlock the door that adjoins their rooms, smiling to himself to see that Jonny has already unlocked and opened his side. Patrick hears the distinct sound of heavy belt buckle hitting the floor and grins involuntarily at the realization that the giant exhibitionist next door could barely set his bag down before shucking his pants. Some things never change. 

Patrick is hit with a wave of emotion at that realization that almost drops him, forcing him to lean back against the nearby dresser for support and to close his eyes against the overwhelming emotions in his chest. 

Staggering though it is, this is not some first-time revelation, some epiphany in the life of one Patrick Kane. No, this is one he's been well aware of since an awkward and intensely painful conversation in April of 2012 that left him reeling and running off to drink half of Madison, Wisconsin in an attempt to block his shame and broken heart. He's aware of it but he thought almost five years of separate lives, schooling of feelings, girlfriends, and even some therapy would have shelved it by now. He takes deep cleansing breaths through his nose to regain control. 

"Hurry up and change, assface," Jonny calls out from deep in his room. 

"When are we meeting?" Patrick grits out, praying he sounds normal and hoping for just a few more minutes to regain control. 

"You never listen to me," Jonny bitches from what sounds like the interior of his closet causing another wave of fondness to roll over Patrick. 

"I'm listening now, dickbag," Patrick's eyes burn a little and he attempts to beat these unwelcome feelings down once again, locking them away until a time when he is alone and able to truly torture himself. 

"In an hour," Jonny calls back, sounding like he's in his bathroom. "I wanted Hammer and TooToo and the guys with kids to be able to check in with their families and stuff. Plus I have third period tape I want to go over with you before the meeting so stop jerking off and get over here."

"You're such a fucking nag," Patrick yells back, keeping in character for a normal exchange no matter what stupid emotional turmoil he's enduring. 

"Yeah yeah yeah," Jonny mutters. "Light a fire under it, Peekaboo." 

When Patrick feels like he can act normal again, he reaches up and pulls his toque off and tosses it on the dresser. He ignores the way his hands are shaking as he quickly changes into a pair of black joggers and an ancient long-sleeved grey Strength t-shirt - his lounging outfit for hotels for years. The shirt may have once belonged to Jonny but it's one of a dozen similar shirts that they've both owned over the years so that's a secret that Patrick will take to the grave. 

"I'm a thousand fucking years old now," Jonny bitches loudly in the room next door and Patrick has to grab the door frame at another wave of longing before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. The fact that lame chirping is apparently some sort of aphrodisiac to Patrick where Jonny is concerned has been hashed and rehashed in therapy. 

"You're a bossy fucking nag is what you are," Patrick offers as he steps into Jonny's room and crosses over without looking at Jonny to grab a bottle of water out of the mini fridge, buying a few more moments to return to normalcy. 

When he feels pretty solid and back in control, he turns and practically chokes on the water he's swallowing. Jonny is standing in front of the window in nothing but a pair of black Under Armor briefs, stretching his arms in some twisty yoga thing while he watches the traffic below. 

"Jesus, would it kill you to put on pants like a normal human?" Patrick spits out and Jonny, the asshole, turns and does this hideous wink that he must think is sexy but is really dumb. And maybe sexy. 

"And deprive you of all this?" Jonny smirks and has the audacity to actually wiggle his giant ass. "Whole websites are devoted to this view, bud. You should consider yourself blessed to see it."

"I should consider gauging my eyes out with a spork," Patrick mutters. "Why are you so sassy? 

Jonny mouths "sassy" and shakes his head incredulously. 

"I mean," Patrick grits out. "Aren't you supposed to be all serious and brooding right now?"

"What have I said about the serious thing?" Jonny narrows his eyes. He blinks for a moment after he notices Patrick's shirt. 

"Hey, is that my shirt?" Jonny changes the subject so suddenly that Patrick is too caught off guard to hide his flush. 

"I've been wearing this shirt for every road trip since like our rookie year, Captain Observant," Patrick attempts to distract. 

"You've been wearing it since 2013," Jonny replies arrogantly, as if it's totally okay to know something like that about a teammate. "But I mean is it mine? I always mean to ask but forget."

"If I've been wearing it for five years," Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, "I'm gonna go with its mine."

"It's in your possession," Jonny raises an eyebrow. "But was I the originating purchaser?"

"Oh ho," Patrick counters. "Look at Mister General Studies of the Fighting Sioux breaking out the business lingo." 

Jonny narrows his eyes before slowly allowing a grin to spread over his face. 

"You only bring up tired chirps about UND when you are trying to distract me," Jonny says smoothly. "So me thinks the shirt is mine."

"Yeah well me thinks you is wrong. And who the fuck under eighty says 'me thinks'?" Patrick mocks. He realizes his miscalculation in the entire conversation when Jonny simply shrugs. 

"Simple way to prove it," Jonny says easily and starts to walk toward Patrick. 

"You're walking toward a world of hurt, son," Patrick manages to get out right before Jonny pounces. 

*******

In hindsight, as Patrick's gasping red face is shoved into Jonny's gross sweaty armpit and Jonny is attempting to read the size on the tag of the shirt, Patrick realizes the better option might have been to play dumb and just say he wasn't sure where the shirt came from. But there is little to be gained by dwelling in the past so instead, Patrick does what any normal, well-adjusted twenty-eight-year-old man wrestling on a hotel bed with his twenty-eight-year-old buddy would do -- he bites Jonny's side. 

"Ouch, you dirty little bastard!" Jonny shouts and rolls just enough for Patrick to start to slip out from under him. 

"Mess with the bull ..." Patrick gasps and almost escapes but Jonny rights himself and in an actually pretty graceful and impressive move, manages to flatten Patrick onto the mattress, pinning his arms above his head and panting down into his face. 

"What was that?" Jonny taunts, knowing that Patrick is a strong little shit but spread out this way and pinned under Jonny's bulk, he won't get the leverage he needs to escape. They both know it. So Patrick gasps and plots his next maneuver as Jonny's hot breath puffs against his face from where Jonny is poised inches above him. 

"You need to lay off the hemp seed, Tubby," Patrick wheezes. 

"Whatcha gonna do now, Peeksy," Jonny's face is dumb and red and smug as he flattens Patrick into the mattress and squeezes his wrists even more tightly. 

Had someone told Patrick to explain himself or lose a kidney, he would have been down a kidney because he has no idea what on earth would possess him to answer Jonny's taunt by straining his neck up and closing the two inches between them to softly kiss Jonny. In fucking Nashville. After their worst start to playoffs ever. When they should probably be focusing on literally anything else. But here they are. And oddly, Patrick doesn't have it in him to regret it. 

To his credit, Jonny doesn't jerk away. He tenses, frozen, and makes the tiniest gasp as he brow furrows and his dark eyes bore into Patrick's face. 

"Was that a new method to make me let you go?" Jonny's voice is low and hoarse, his hands reflexively squeezing down even more on Patrick's arms. 

"No," Patrick answers honesty, freeing flood gates that have been tightly drawn closed since 2012. 

"Pat...," Jonny drops all guard and looks at Patrick with a gutted expression, still pressed into him as they lay sandwiched on the bed. 

"I just wanted to," Patrick juts his chin out a little in challenge. 

"But you said ... we agreed," Jonny stammers in a small voice that wants to rip Patrick's heart into pieces. 

"We did," Patrick nods. Because they did. It was the worst conversation of his adult life and that includes everything after August 2015. 

"What about..." Jonny's confused tiny voice is going to destroy Patrick. "What about ... you have a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend. What about ..."

"This isn't about them," Patrick knows his face is flaming red and he's fairly sure that Jonny can feel his heartbeat racing through the thin Strength t-shirt. But in for a penny, in for a pound ... or whatever that phrase is. 

"How is it not about them?" Jonny's eyes widen and his voice raises a little hysterically. "I think it's a hell of a lot about them."

"Listen," Patrick's frustration starts to ratchet and he starts to squirm a little in an attempt to free himself. 

"Stop fighting me for one second and talk," Jonny is probably leaving bruises on Patrick's wrists with how tightly he's gripping them but Patrick doesn't have it in himself to mind. 

"I'm trying but I can't breathe, lard ass," Patrick gasps and that shakes Jonny out of his daze a bit. Jonny lets go of Patrick's wrists but only enough to get up on his arms, still looming over Patrick in the same position just minus the spleen-crushing weight. 

"Now talk," Jonny orders. "And no fucking around here, Patrick." Patrick tries not to shiver at the use of his full name or the dominating tone. He starts to open his mouth but Jonny stops him with a glare. "And you know what I mean so don't even say it you little shit."

Patrick narrows his eyes and glares up at Jonny, who is completely unphased and glares right back. The long moment between them is full of a tension that threatens to explode. Patrick is faintly alarmed to realize that it's kind of working for him as he feels a flood of heat hit his core and he starts to thicken up. It's just a matter of moments until Jonny is going to be able to tell just how much it's working. 

"Don't make it weird," Patrick breaks first, letting out all of his breath in a rush. Jonny's face moves through a comic contortion of about twelve expressions that are probably emotions. 

"Don't make it weird?! Are you shitting me right now?" He actually roars. Patrick bites at his own lip, but not out of fear. 

I kissed you because I wanted to," Patrick fakes bravado, a little panic finally creeping in where it would have been welcome about five minutes prior maybe BEFORE he kissed Jonny. 

"I remember," Jonny spits out sarcastically. "But I also remember a particularly horrific conversation in my apartment in 2012 where we both said we would never do that. Where you said it was the wrong way to go, that too much was at stake, that we couldn't risk it." 

For maybe the first time, Patrick can see that Jonny has maybe been hiding just as much hurt about that day as Patrick had been. And it's written all over his face so clearly that Patrick wants to vomit at being part of the reason it exists. 

"We both said that," Patrick offers quietly. "And we weren't wrong. Probably. Maybe. Fuck, I don't even know." He sighs wearily and rubs a hand over his face now that it has feeling again.

Patrick doesn't generally spend too much time regretting his decisions. Life is too chaotic to spend time that way. He instead tries to learn from them, apologize to anyone he may have hurt in the process, and move forward. But right now, he may just start to dwell in the land of regret. 

Jonny shakes his head slowly, probably not even realizing he's doing it as he still hovers over Patrick. His mouth works a few times like he's trying to say something but no sound comes out. 

"Why now?" Jonny settles on and Patrick sighs deeply, knowing he can be completely honest or try to backtrack and salvage the situation. He opts for honesty, too exhausted to go any other way. 

"I honestly don't know, Jon," Patrick offers quietly, watching the way Jonny's pupils dilate a little at Patrick's use of his actual name. "Maybe because I've been a pinball for half of the fucking Preds over the past two games. Maybe it's because I am frustrated after our worst playoffs to date. Maybe it's because it's a waning gibbous fucking moon."

"Don't," Jonny growls in warning. "Don't you dare be flippant right now. Not about this. Not about....us." Jonny's eyes always feel like they see right through Patrick and he feels particularly exposed today. Patrick closes his eyes. 

"Maybe it's because ..." Patrick swallows hard, feeling a burning at the corner of his eyelids that mean he's probably about to start crying. But whatever. He doesn't want to hide anymore. He opens his eyes and stares up at Jonny's stupid confused face. "Maybe it's because there are five full months between now and September."

"Good job, math major," Jonny rolls his eyes, arms starting to quiver a little at the effort to hold his giant ass up for so long. "That happens every year."

"And maybe this year I'm not ready to be cut out of your life for five months, did you ever think of that, asshole?" Patrick says bitterly. He takes a deep breath and blinks repeatedly because the tears are definitely threatening to make an appearance. "Because we could start our vacations by the end of this fucking week and maybe I'm not ready for five months of nothing but my apartment, family get togethers with my girlfriend, and golf." 

Patrick is absolutely certain he's going to hate himself later but the lid is off and there's no stopping now.

"Maybe I'm not ready for watching you live separately from me via your social media, pathetically following along as you vacation in New Zealand or Australia or the deserts of Sedona with that sketchy bastard you call a friend. Watching you post stupid deep poetic tweets of the sky over the lake at your brother's place or retweeting shit about conquering your fears. Watching you tag along like a T-Rex with those fucking douche bag friends of yours in Vegas or wherever they and Jonny-You're-Such-a-Slut go live it up. Watching you," Patrick can't even begin to stop the way his voice cracks at "watching you post the cliche pic of your hand with the she-said-yes!!!!"

Patrick stops and takes a shaky breath. 

"Maybe I'm just not ready to let you go," Patrick whispers, eyes shut tightly, hating how wobbly his voice sounds. 

"Patrick," If Patrick thought Jonny sounded gutted before, he sounds absolutely destroyed right now. Patrick refuses to open his eyes and instead clenches them even tighter, biting his lip so hard that he's sure he's re-opened stitches. 

"Pat," Jonny pleads in a hoarse whisper. "Pat, look at me and tell me what that means. Tell me what you're actually saying here." 

The first stupid hated hot tear spills out of the corner of Patrick's eye as he hiccups in a shallow breath. He should be braver and open his eyes for this part but he keeps them tightly closed and whispers "It means I am in love with you, Jon. I never wasn't. I never won't be."

Patrick lays there and battles the tightness in his chest, fighting to stop the trembling he feels as too many emotions threaten to explode. The silence is deafening as Jonny stays frozen in the same position above him. 

Patrick is not prepared, not even close, when he feels Jonny's lips brush his softly. His eyes fly open in time to see Jonny pull his head back up to stare down at Patrick's face, a soft smile playing around his lips. Jonny's arms are shaking now but whether it's from the effort of the position or from too many emotions of his own, Patrick won't guess. 

"Jon," Patrick exhales and Jonny shakes his head. 

"No, nope," he says quietly. "You've said all you get to say right now." 

"Oh," Patrick's heart flips in his chest as Jonny slowly lowers himself to cover Patrick's body from toes to hips to chest, stretching his arms back up to capture and intertwine his fingers with Patrick's and push them toward the headboard, their lips only inches apart. 

"Because if you keep talking," Jonny whispers, grin ghosting around his lips as his hot breath feathers over Patrick's chin. "I'm going to cum all over my Strength t-shirt."

"Say what now?" Patrick's brain isn't sure it's keeping up with the conversation. 

"Shut up," Jonny nips at the corner of Patrick's lips. "Just stop talking for a little while. We can - and will - talk later. Right now though," he ghosts his nose along Patrick's cheek and rests it near his ear to utter in an unfairly low voice, "I would really really like to pick up where we left off five years ago."

Patrick's mind ... is ... blown. Jonny is the biggest mother fucker he has ever met. And he's just revving up to tell him exactly that when Jonny shifts and he feels their bottom halves slot up perfectly enough that Patrick honest to God whimpers. 

"I hate you so much," Patrick whines weakly as Jonny begins an infinitesimal rocking of his hips back and forth resulting in a friction so good that Patrick legitimately fears swallowing his own tongue. 

"Lies," Jonny whispers breezily as he ghosts his mouth across Patrick's cheeks on the way back toward Patrick's mouth. "You love me. You just confessed. I own you now, Peeksy." 

If the image that inspires in Patrick's mind didn't shake him to the core, Patrick would have shoved Jonny's smug ass right off the bed. Possibly. Maybe not. At any rate, Patrick hasn't earned the reputation of being a little shit for nothing and he decides to meet Mr. Smug-Ass where he lives. 

In one fluid movement, Patrick pulls his legs apart and wraps them around Jonny's ass, pulling their hips together in a move that he probably should have thought about because they both moan embarrassingly. 

"Fuck," Jonny hisses, letting go of one hand entangled with Patrick's to pin them both with his other, leaving a hand to reach down and clench Patrick's jaw as he directs Patrick exactly where he needs him and proceeds to completely demolish his mouth with kisses so deep that it's entirely possible that Patrick will swallow both of their tongues. And he doesn't give two shits. In fact, basically is only along for the ride as he mewls and gasps in ways that he absolutely knows Jonny will taunt him with later. 

"Take my shirt off .... now," Jonny growls when he comes up for air, chest heaving. 

"I told you," Patrick decides to poke the proverbial bear and dimples cheekily. "It's mine." Jonny very admirably only narrows his eyes. 

"Well if you want to keep it," his voice is low and throaty, "then you've got exactly nineteen seconds to remove it."

"Clever," Patrick rolls his eyes. "But 1) I know where to get many more, and b) you would have to lift your chubby self off me and let go of my arms, Captain Domineering."

"Or..." Jonny makes a particularly strong slide of his dick against Patrick's and reaches down with his free hand to haul Patrick's shirt up above his chest to expose his nipples. Patrick damn near flies off the bed when Jonny lightly trails his tongue over a pert nipple. 

"Fuuuuuuuck," Patrick exhales and he is torn between begging Jonny to keep licking or kicking Jonny in the throat to shut his arrogant mouth. He can kick Jonny later. 

Patrick is so lost in the squirming perfect torture of Jonny's teasing tongue and mouth that he doesn't even notice Jonny's managed to slide both his own boxers and Patrick's pants down onto their thighs. He only notices when he legit shouts as Jonny encloses both of their hot cocks in his large hand. Patrick is losing it quickly but can't give two shits about it especially when he realizes for all his smooth smugness, Jonny is just about to lose it too. 

Five - hell who is he kidding - TEN years is a hell of a long time for foreplay, after all. 

"Jonny," Patrick pants, squirming against Jonny's immovable hold. "Fuck ... I'm gonna ... fuck." 

"Fucking will come later," Jonny murmurs in acknowledgment between gasps. "After you come back from embarrassing Pekka so much over the next four .... dammit ... games that he has nothing to do but weep every time ... fuck .... he turns on a game and ... shit ... sees you demolish another goalie ... fuck ... in the same way."

Leave it to Jonny to think hockey talk is appropriate sexy talk. And leave it to Patrick to come in a roar as the result. At least Jonny won't be able to be too smug because he is comes less than three strokes later, uttering a noise that is the most embarrassing combination of growl/whimper/groan that Patrick will want to hear forever. 

They lay twisted together in a spent heap, catching their breaths in the silent of the hotel room around them. Patrick frowns when he starts to literally feel Jonny's brain beginning to work. 

"Stop it," Patrick kicks him in the shin with a flailing weak shot. "No thinking."

"I'm not," Jonny huffs and kicks back, head still resting where it landed heavy on Patrick's heart. 

"Sure you're not," Patrick snorts and runs his thumb back and forth along the base of Jonny's neck, taking extreme pleasure in the fact that he now gets to physically map out places that he's been mentally studying for years. 

"You're getting cum on my shirt, dude," Jonny counters nonsensically. 

"Technically you are getting your own cum on your shirt," Patrick points out. 

"So it was my shirt after all," Jonny lifts his head and stares down and Patrick with his stupid earnest dumb doe eyes and far too much arrogance. 

"Go away," Patrick tries to face wash him. Jonny captures his hand and bites at Patrick's thumb. His face softens to something even more stupid and earnest and dumb, and Patrick hiccups a breath because he's apparently just as dumb. 

"Nah," Jonny grins. "Not yet."

"Oh yeah," Patrick tries for light but he can't help the seriousness that comes out when he asks, "for how long?"

"Well," Jonny's eyes soften to something so perfect and fond that Patrick is probably going to end up doing something like crying. "I'm pretty booked up until at least mid-June." And then Jonny does his horrendous wink. Which Patrick would chirp him for but that would require speaking past the lump in his throat at what Jonny is saying there. They're gonna come back from this. They're going to embarrass Nashville and go on to hoist that silver beauty again. 

"You sure as fuck are," Patrick says with steeled determination. 

Mission three accomplished. And Patrick hadn't really even planned for that one.....


End file.
